Old City Bar
by Jude81
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and the regulars have gathered at the Old City Bar. But tonight...everything changes with the appearance of a mysterious child. Lives are changed forever, and home is finally found. Lots of Christmas fluff and love. Lots of characters make an appearance.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **I said I would never write a Clexa AU. I was wrong. This is for all of you: my kru and my readers. I wish each and every one of you a very Merry Christmas, and if you don't celebrate Christmas, I still with you a very wonderful Sunday December 25th. May it be filled with Peace, Joy, and Love. I hope you enjoy.**

 **A/N:** **This story is inspired by the song Old City Bar by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, one of my favorite songs. You can listen to it here** **watch?v=JhXSLSltWvY**

She sighed as she looked out the front window into the quiet street, watching the fat flakes of snow drift lazily to the ground. The road, if it could even be called a road, was dirty and slushy with bits of garbage and half-melted salt clinging to the ice on the pavement. Ice was gathering in the corners of the window outside, and she could just barely see the reflection of the broken neon sign hanging above the door. The sign blitzed more than it worked, and it was one more thing that needed to be fixed, and yet probably never would. She scooped up the dirty glasses in her arms and made her way to the back of the bar.

It was a small bar, dark and quiet, with stark naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The wooden floor had seen better days, and the tables and chairs didn't exactly match anymore. And God knew the pool table was shaky at best, tilting at the worst, but her regulars never complained. They just shoved folded paper bowls under one leg to even it out. Vintage pictures of exotic landscapes in cheap and cracked frames hung from the walls. They'd been there since long before she had stopped dreaming.

She plunged the dirty glasses in the basin of soapy water, quickly cleaning and rinsing them. She grabbed the towel hanging off her shoulder and dried them quickly and efficiently, before carefully stacking them under the bar. She grabbed a rag, rubbing down the bar again. She'd done it ten minutes ago, but the bar was the pride and joy of this little dive, even if the dive was ramshackle and falling apart around her ears, tucked away on a dirty alley in the city that never slept.

She'd spent her life in this city, here on the lesser side going from foster home to foster home. She'd never left, never knew how to leave. And despite being young, she was too old to leave now. This was home, as much of a home as she could imagine.

She carefully wiped the bar down again for what was probably the ten thousandth time, and she watched as her rag followed the mellowed, golden curves of the bar, that would never be straight. It had been carved from a crooked tree, and somehow it just fit. No, the bar wasn't much, but it was hers. Every square inch of it was hers with its tinny juke box, naked bulbs, creaking floor, and shoddy pool table.

She shook her head as she slung the rag into the sink. She looked around, noting the few customers. It was Christmas Even after all and nine at night. She supposed she could have just closed, but she had nowhere else to be, and no one to be with. She sighed as the only three customers in the bar got up and shuffled over to pay their tab. Less than thirty bucks and no tips. She really should have closed.

Anya growled as she stomped through the slush, cursing as it splattered on her gray suede boots. She knew she probably shouldn't have worn them out in the slush and muck of the streets, but they'd been too beautiful and too expensive to pass up. She grimaced as she rounded the corner of her apartment building, pissed that her driver had managed to get himself stuck up the street. She should fire him, but so far he had been the only one able to put up with her temperamental ass. She knew she was hard to deal with on a good day, and a nightmare on a bad day. It was probably why she'd been dumped into foster care as a child, and why no one had ever wanted her.

She shrugged. It didn't matter. She'd managed on her own. She'd worked hard in school and had received a full ride to the college of her choice. She'd majored in marketing and had excelled at it. She'd opened her own small company a few years after graduating, and she'd earned a reputation of being both creative and ruthless. She had the ability to charm and manipulate, and it had helped her survive the numerous foster homes she'd grown up in. No, she was a self-made woman with expensive tastes, a penthouse, her own driver, and $900 boots that were probably now ruined.

She tucked her head against the falling snow, pulling her woolen pea coat tighter around her as she hurried up to street. She didn't bother to make eye contact with anyone. Few people were out at nine at night on Christmas Eve, and those who were out on the streets, belonged to the streets, and they weren't worth her time. None of them were, and certainly not the two bums that liked to hang out around the heating grate near her apartment. Every morning they tipped their hats to her, but she rarely spared them a glance. And tonight she ignored them again, as they huddled around the heating grate, trying to absorb what little heat rose into the dark night.

"It's time to go."

"I don't know why we bother to go to that dive, and on Christmas Eve."

"Because it's tradition. Besides, I know you love her chowder and thick bread."

The dark, shaggy haired man sighed and rolled his eyes. He would never admit it, but he did love her clam chowder and thick, warm, crusty bread. She always made it every Saturday night, and it was probably what kept bringing the regulars back, if they could even be called regulars. He didn't know any of them well, they were more strangers than acquaintances really.

He poured another shot of Kentucky whiskey into the tumbler. He picked it up, swirling it for a moment, letting the light catch the amber swirls. He tossed it back, no longer feeling the burn as it raced into his belly. He could barely feel the warmth. Truth was he could barely feel anything. He hadn't been able to for a long time. He set the heavy tumbler down with a clunk, his mood quickly becoming sullen. He didn't want to think about why he had started drinking, and he certainly didn't want to think about why he couldn't seem to stop at just one drink or even at four.

The younger man pushed his tawny colored hair out of his eyes. He was pale and thin with a narrow face and pale blue eyes. He supposed he looked funny standing next to his tall, broad shouldered boyfriend with the dark eyes and black curly hair; but he didn't care. He knew Bellamy loved his slight frame, his long, awkward limbs that shook more often than not, thanks to a weak immune system. And he supposed he had always loved Bellamy, even when Bellamy made it hard to love him.

He shook his head as he watched Bellamy toss back another shot. Was it his fifth? Maybe his sixth? He would be drunk again tonight, just like most nights. They never spoke of it, but it had become a ritual; Bellamy stumbling home smelling like a brewery, and Murphy never said a word, would just shove him into their tiny shower, sliding in behind him and holding him under the hot water. He would wash his strong shoulders and back, his fingers dancing lightly over the scars. And every night, he pressed his thin lips to the scars. And they never spoke of it. And they never spoke of the ghost who haunted their dreams.

Murphy sighed as he pulled on his coat and hat. He handed Bellamy his own, watching carefully as Bellamy managed to zip it on the second try. He locked the door to the little house behind him, and they started off on foot. It was only a few blocks, and the walk would hopefully help Bellamy sober up.

He sighed quietly as he stood before the door, wondering if this night would be any different. He wasn't sure why he kept coming back to this little dive with the small beer menu, and the juke box that only played four records. He wasn't much of a drinker, never had been. But he liked the chowder and bread, and he liked that the bar was usually mostly quiet. People rarely raised their voice in here, just drank and talked quietly. Sometimes an unruly drunk or two would show up, but they rarely ever returned. He smiled. It was a most unusual bar in this dirty part of the city.

He figured he'd dithered enough, and he slipped through the door quietly, making sure to stomp his feet on the worn welcome mat. He was a lot of things: a great bear of a man, with long hair and a beard. He was a veteran, and the scars on his face had been earned the hard way. But he was also conscientious, and far be it for him to drag the street in with him to this little bar, that might not have exactly welcomed him with open arms, but also hadn't cast him out. And maybe that was why he kept coming back. They just accepted him as another stranger with scars and dreams. No one fussed. No one cared. And maybe…well, maybe she would be here again.

He ordered a Guinness from the girl behind the bar. He supposed she wasn't a girl, probably in her early 30's; and he suspected she might actually be the owner of this little dive. She had a wild mane of brown, curly hair that she often wrapped in braids, and it suited her quiet, but fierce nature.

He dropped some bills and coins on the bar, making sure to leave her a tip. He didn't have a lot, but it was only fair. She gave him the slightest smile, as she pocketed the tip. It had taken two months of coming here before she gave him that smile. He figured she didn't offer them very often, and he took it for what it was; two strangers who weren't quite as strange to each other as they thought.

He headed to his usual seat in the back, but hesitated after a moment and decided to sit at the next table. It still afforded him a good view of the entire bar, not that it was very big. Only five tables with chairs scattered around them, and the bar had ten stools. All of them simple and mismatched, but he supposed that was part of their charm. So he sipped his Guinness quietly, thinking about other bars on other nights, and he waited to see if she would be here tonight.

"Oh come on! It will be fun!" The young woman huffed as she scrambled out of the taxi, and waited for her two friends to join her on the muddy sidewalk. "I do it every year, and it's important."

The tall, gangly boy laughed as he stumbled out of the taxi, his arms brushing against the other boy, as he grabbed him to steady himself. He probably shouldn't have smoked so much weed before coming out, but he didn't care. He shrugged and straightened, puffing out his thin chest. "Nope. Sorry. I got plans."

"And what plans would those be? You decided not to go home for Christmas." The other boy carefully brushed his coat off from Jasper's offending hands. He wrinkled his nose a bit. While he had been known to partake of a bowl or two, usually with Jasper, he didn't particularly like smelling like hash all the time. And he wasn't stupid. He had noticed that Jasper had started smoking a little more often, ever since Maya had broken up with him. He'd been skipping classes and smoking too much. And his normal genial humor had taken on a dark, cynical edge.

Jasper laughed as he tilted his head back, trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. "Yup. Big plans. I got this new hybrid in. I'm gonna smoke a bowl or three and eat Cheetos." He laughed again, ignoring the girl's disgusted snort.

"Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself?" She glared at him, irritated by his goofy grin, and his to wide gestures as he spoke. She had never really understood why Monty loved Jasper so much, nor why he covered for him so often in their classes. And she wasn't even sure why she was friends with Jasper, and she supposed that was what they were. All three of them. She'd met them as freshman, but Monty and Jasper had already known each other, neither could really remember for how long, they'd just always been in each other's lives. But now, years after meeting them, they were all set to graduate university in Spring.

Jasper stared at her morosely for a moment. He'd stopped thinking of others when Maya had left. She was the first girl he'd ever loved, and he was sure she would be the only one he would ever love. It had been three months, and it still hurt as much as it did the day she walked away. Or at least it didn't hurt as much when he was high and spinning. So he just shrugged, and plucked the pink and white iPod from his pocket, fitting the earbuds into his ears. He ignored them, turning to the door and pushing it open harder than necessary and stomping his way in.

Monty stared worriedly after his friend before turning to Harper, "I'll go with you," he smiled shyly, pleased when she clapped her hands and threw her arms around him.

"Thank you, Monty, you are one of the good ones." And she turned and followed Jasper inside.

"No, you are," muttered Monty as he stared after her, thankful Jasper wasn't there to see what he was sure was a lovesick smile on his face. He smiled, relishing the lingering warmth from her arms and followed them inside. He just wished he had the courage to tell her everything in his heart.

"We've been over this, Mom, and I don't want to talk about it anymore!" The blonde growled into the phone that was pressed a little too hard to her ear. As usual her mother wasn't listening, and she was tired of the constant fighting. "Look, Mom, the decision isn't yours to make. It's mine, and it is what daddy would have wanted for me."

The blonde sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers trying to stave off the headache. It was always the same argument. Her surgeon mother had never understood why Clarke refused to follow in her footsteps, instead studying music at the conservatory. Her father had loved music, and it had been he who had first placed a guitar in her hands when she was two. It had been he, who had gently cupped her hands in his and showed her how to tap the drums with her palms when she was five. And there had never been any going back, even when she took AP Biology and Chemistry to please her mother, who was hell bent on her becoming a surgeon or at least a doctor.

Her father had been a child prodigy violinist, he had even been on his way to play at Carnegie Hall when the accident had happened that broke both his hands. He had been 17, and suddenly his life as he knew it had changed forever. He could barely play the violin anymore, and it had destroyed some part of him. He'd gone on to college and become an engineer. He'd fallen in love and married, but how he ached to still play the violin, and every time he picked up the bow and violin, his hands shook and the clumsy notes fell broken from his bow. It wasn't until he held a little blonde baby in his arms that the part of him he'd thought long dead, burst back into life in all its vibrant and lyrical notes.

And instead of being afraid that he might never be whole again without his music, he devoted every single beat of his heart to his child, and her love of music flourished under his tender care. But it was Abby, who had loved him more than maybe she should have, and it had hurt to see his pain; and she couldn't bear the same for her child.

"No, Mom. I'm not coming home for Christmas. I already told you why. I'm staying here so I can practice for the upcoming auditions. Yeah…well…whatever. I'm here, and I have to go." The blonde angrily hit the End button and shoved her phone into her pocket. Her mother would never understand, just like she hadn't understood her husband. She shook her head, refusing to allow her mother to ruin her mood. It was Saturday night, her one free night; and she was going to do what she did every night. Sit at the bar, and try to work up the courage to ask the beautiful brunette with the green eyes out to dinner. Or coffee. Or to her bed. She flushed at the thought.

He racked the balls up as usual, turning each one up so the numbers were visible and in order. Bryan liked to tease him about how meticulous he was about it, especially when the pool table was lopsided; and it probably didn't matter. But it mattered to him. He let his fingers dip across the balls, remembering the first time his father took him to play pool. They didn't have a lot of money growing up. His father was a guard at the local jail, and he didn't speak often, and he never drank. But he was a hell of a pool player, and he took Miller with him every Saturday night to a crappy little dive bar on the South Side of Boston. And there in that that little bar with cigarette and cheap cigar smoke clouding the air, with spilled beer staining the floor, his father had taught him the game of pool. He had stopped playing in high school when his father died unexpectedly of cancer. Cirrhosis of the liver. The non-alcoholic kind.

But it was Bryan who had brought him here to this dive three years ago, after moving to the city that never slept; and here he had fallen in love with pool again: the sharp crack of the cue, the slide of the balls across the felt, the smell of old beer, and thick clam chowder. And now? Well now, he wanted a child. He wanted to teach his son or daughter to play pool, help them hold the cue in their tiny hands. He wanted to come home at night to the sound of children's laughter and the press of his husband's lips to his cheek.

But Bryan…Bryan wasn't sure. He was afraid he would be a bad father. His own father had bailed when he was a child, and then it had just been a string of boyfriends in the tiny, cramped apartment. A few had taken an interest in him. One had bought him a glove and taught him to play catch. One had tried to sneak into his bedroom one night, but his mother caught him and threw him out. One had promised to take him fishing, and then never showed up.

He loved Miller more than he had ever dreamed was possible, but a child…a child entirely reliant upon him…he wasn't sure he could do it. But he thought maybe he wanted to do it, and God knew Miller deserved to have children, and more importantly there were children in the world who deserved to have the kind of father that Miller would be. He just didn't know if he could do it. Would he fail like his own father had? What if it was genetic?

And so they talked and talked and argued and talked and loved. He watched as Miller grabbed the cues offer him first pick, and he picked the one he knew wasn't Miller's favorite, not that Miller would have cared. He would have gladly given it up, but Bryan didn't need Miller's favorite cue. He just needed Miller.

She stepped through the door, unobtrusively as always. Her dark eyes scanned the room, noting the usual occupants. The three slightly rowdy college kids, one smelling like weed. It had been going on for months. The blonde at the bar, drinking her frilly drink with a straw, her eyes nervously watching the girl behind the bar. She smirked. That had been going on for months also.

The two young men at one of the tables, the thin one drinking water, and the darker one with the pretty lips gulping his beer down only for some of it to spill on his shirt. She sniffed when he let the mug drop heavily to the table to join two others. That too had been going on for months.

The other girl at the bar. The one with the stained suede boots. Expensive boots, and she should have known better. She was older, older than the girl behind the bar. There was a familiarity there. They knew each other, had been in the trenches together, but they weren't intimate. Their words lacked that emotional depth, but were still colored in tired affection.

The other two young men at the pool table. Talking more in hushed whispers than actually playing pool. That had been going on for a few weeks. The same tired argument, and she could hear the uncertainty in one boy's words, but the other boy's words were strong and sure. Whatever they were arguing about, it wouldn't destroy them, they wouldn't let it. She was surprised at the warmth that flitted through her at the thought.

She walked further into the room, signaling to the girl. Scotch neat. She was a sipper, and a smoker. It was a filthy habit that she was slowly kicking. She only allowed herself four cigarettes a day now, and one would be smoked in the corner with her other hand wrapped around the heavy tumbler of scotch. Sure it was against the rules, but the girl with the forest green eyes never said a word. It was only one cigarette, and she let it pass.

She walked towards her regular spot, stopping when she saw him. He was sitting next to her spot. He could still see the door from where he sat, but normally he still sat a couple chairs over. She hesitated but then decided it didn't matter. If the cigarette smoke bothered him, he could get up and leave. Besides, she was mildly curious about this man with the scars on his face and gentle eyes. She couldn't read him very well.

So she nodded to him and sat in her regular spot, lighting up her cigarette. She took a puff, holding it in her mouth before blowing it back out. She sipped at her Scotch, watching him out of the corner of her eye. And she realized he was watching her out of the corner of his eye.

It was 9:30, and they were all here. Her regulars, this group of sort-of strangers. They weren't much but they were hers. She stepped into the back room to the tiny kitchen. She stirred the clam chowder that had been warming on the small stove. She grabbed some potholders and carefully lifted it off and carried it out to the bar. She set it on a tray, and settled the ladle in the pot. She carefully stirred it again, smirking a little as the small conversations died down as they all started moving towards the bar, as she returned to the kitchen.

She brought out the three loaves of thick, warm bread next. Homemade. It was crusty and perfect, and she set out the paper bowl of butter pats next to it. They were already serving themselves, dumping heaping ladles full of clam chowders into paper bowls. They nodded and smiled at her, some whispering thank you's. She just nodded and sliced the bread, and then left them to their own devices.

She stared across the bar, looking out the big window, noting that the wind was blowing. It was going to be a cold night. She frowned, making a note that she needed to add a few pieces of coal to the small stove in the room in the back. She slept there more often than not. The bed wasn't exactly comfortable, but it would do. The little black bellied stove heated the tiny room quite well, and it didn't take up too much coal.

She frowned when she suddenly felt a frigid blast of air rush through the open door. She frowned as the door closed behind…no one. She looked around, not seeing a newcomer, and so she started around the bar thinking that maybe it had blown open and then shut.

"Hello." The voice was soft. Young. And it didn't belong in this tiny bar.

She glanced down over the end of the bar, surprised to see the child standing there, and she realized it was this child who had come in. She was young, maybe only fourteen. Maybe even thirteen. She had long chocolate brown hair spilling down to her shoulders. No hat, but she wore a thick navy blue bomber jacket, and thick navy blue cargo pants. And what looked like black combat type boots. Her young face was flawless, and her dark eyes gleamed in the week light.

"You shouldn't be here." Lexa muttered, confused as to why the child had wandered inside. She swallowed uncomfortably, as the child just smiled gently at her. She was aware of everyone staring at them, as they continued to silently eat. She watched as the child sniffed delicately, and even bigger smile breaking across her face to reveal even, white teeth.

Lexa shifted uncomfortably, before gesturing towards the pot. "You hungry?"

"Oh yes, please." And the girl hopped up on a stool at the end of the counter. She smiled at Anya who scowled at her, and she smiled at Clarke who waved at her.

Lexa set a steaming bowl of clam chowder in front of the girl, with two slices of bread and butter next to it. She handed her a napkin at the last moment, glad she'd remembered at least some of her manners. She sighed. She really didn't want to deal with this child in her bar. She didn't want to get involved, and she knew Anya would advise against it. She watched for a few moments as the child ate with gusto, not spilling a drop, before she was distracted with refilling Monty and Clarke's glasses.

Once she'd poured another round, she walked back to the end of the bar leaning across it so she could talk to the kid. She noted the kid had eaten every drop, and even mopped it up the remaining chowder with her bread. "You want more?"

"No, thank you. That was very good." The child smiled again before bringing her arms up to rest on the bar. She seemed unperturbed that she was alone in a bar full of strangers. She sat on the stool as if she'd sat on a thousand different bar stools, and for some curious reason, Lexa thought maybe she had.

Lexa shook her head of the fanciful notion. There was something unnerving about this child. But she needed to send her home, back to wherever she'd come from. "So you lost?"

"No, but someone else is."

Lexa jerked slightly, frowning as she leaned closer to the girl, and the girl leaned closer to her as if to tell her a secret. And Lexa had the fanciful notion that this child was full of secrets, and it made something in her stomach roll.

"Did you know," whispered the girl quietly, "that there is someone out in the snow? They are lost, and they are standing near your door." The girl turned and pointed behind her, pointed towards the window.

Lexa stood up, craning her neck, but she couldn't see anyone near the door. Maybe they were around the corner? She huffed. It wasn't any of her business. She didn't want to get involved. She just wanted to be left alone. She rubbed her forehead, aware that Anya was watching her with calculating eyes, and Bryan and Miller had wandered back over to stand near them.

"Look, it isn't any of my business…any of ours. But you need to leave. You need to head home. You know where home is, right?" Lexa didn't want to ask the last part, but she needed to. She knew what it was like to be a child without a home, and despite not wanting anything to do with whatever this particular child was involved in; she had to be sure the child had a place to sleep.

"Yes, I told you. I'm not lost, but she is." And the child pointed again, but Lexa just shook her head and went back down to the bar to refill drinks.

She slowly made her way back down the bar, after giving Murphy another water. She didn't want to do this, she wouldn't do this. But even as she was mentally berating herself to not get involved, she found the words spilling from her mouth, "Not that I care, but how do you know this?"

The child smiled and reached out, her soft fingers pressing into the top of Lexa's hand. "I've noticed that if one could go home, they'd already be there."

Lexa stared at her, and then looked out the window again, and this time, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She walked back into the little kitchen, her fists clenched tightly. She could feel the breath stuttering in her chest, and she could hear Anya's voice in her ear from years ago, _Easy, kiddo, easy. Just breathe._ She took a shallow breath, breathing in and breathing out, deliberately pacing herself. She felt the band around her chest loosen, as she practiced the breathing skills Anya had taught her years ago, when they'd wound up in the same foster home. What has it been…her fourth home? Third? She couldn't remember, but she and Anya had been together for two years, then separated for three, and then together another year, in a different foster again.

She sighed as she looked at the second pot of chowder on the oven. This one wasn't for them. It was for her. She'd made enough to last the rest of the weekend. She shook her head, and grabbed the pot taking it back out to the bar. She set it down, putting the ladle back in.

"Come and get it," she muttered as she gestured to the pot, "If you want it." And like she'd suspected, they all crowded around the bowl, refilling bowls and talking and laughing quietly. They would probably gorge themselves on it, if she would let them. She slipped over to the cash register, hesitating for a moment, watching out of the corner of her eye making sure they were all busy.

And when no one was looking, she grabbed all the cash in the drawer. She hadn't done a bank run in three days, which was stupid leaving the cash in the drawer like that, but she just hadn't gotten around to doing it. She wasn't sure, but she figured there was quite a bit in there. She grabbed her jacket and hat, nodding to the kid and stepped outside.

She waited outside the door for a moment, letting her eyes get used to the dark. She could hear the faltering buzz, and she looked up at the old neon sign blinking haphazardly. "Old City Bar," it read, and that was exactly what it was. Just another old city bar. She really needed to get the sign fixed. She looked down the street, squinting her eyes in the weak light from the street lamps. She didn't see anything, but a few parked cars on the street. She turned up the street, walking in the cold air, the snow falling in her face. She about thirty feet up, rounding the corner of the building and there she was. Just like the child had said.

She stood next to a broken pay phone, leaning heavily against it. She couldn't have been more than seventeen. Maybe eighteen. Her red leather jacket was zipped up tight to her chin. No hat, and she clutched a crumpled dollar bill and some change in a small fist. Her head was bowed, and even from a few feet away, Lexa could see her shoulders shaking. She was sure the girl was crying, even if her long dark hair obscured her features.

She watched as the girl shifted awkwardly, and that was when Lexa noticed the brace on her left leg for the first time. She grit her teeth, her hand fisted around the bills, jammed in her pocket. "Why are you here?" She almost regretted the words as soon as she said them.

The girl looked up startled, and she tried to stand, but her leg twisted under her, and she gasped in pain. But instead of falling, she felt strong hands wrap under her elbows and gently pull her upright. She stared up into piercing green eyes, the older woman's face giving nothing away.

"It's broken," she whispered, and tears dripped down her cheeks, "I can't get home. All I want…I just…I can't..." Her broken words stuttered to a painful stop, and she looked down at the dollar and change clutched in her hand. It was enough to make a phone call, but the pay phone was broken. She'd hobbled miles through the streets looking for one, and when she finally found one…it was broken, just like everything else in her life.

Lexa nodded, and pulled out her flip phone. Anya liked to mock her for having an old crappy cell phone, but it did the job. She didn't need Internet on her phone. She didn't need to see all the places she would never visit. She dialed a number, speaking quickly into the phone, before snapping it shut and stuffing it in her jacket.

"I…I don't have enough money to pay for it."

"Did I say anything about you paying for it?" Muttered Lexa without looking at the girl. She silently willed the taxi to arrive faster, as she had run out of things to say. She watched the girl out of the corner of her eye, noticed the way she shivered. She sighed and took the warm beanie off her head and held it out to the girl.

When the girl just looked at her in confusion, she huffed and reached out, pulling it down over her head. "It might not be much to look at, but it's warm. Fleece lined."

"Thank you," murmured the girl as she reached up with a slim hand and felt the hat.

Lexa sighed in relief when the taxi pulled up. She yanked the door open, gesturing for the girl to get in.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Now get in."

"B-but where am I going?" Her voice shook, and she barely held back the tears.

Lexa grabbed the girl's hand, shoving all of her cash into it. She wrapped the girl's fingers around the cash, squeezing gently. "It's enough. It's enough. Just….just go home. Go home." And she pulled back before the girl could say anything, her dark eyes shining in the weak light, her mouth open in a gasp.

Lexa pushed the door shut, and leaned in the passenger window. "JFK."

The taxi driver nodded and drove off towards the airport, leaving Lexa standing in the falling snow. She stared thoughtfully down at her worn boots, her hands shoved into her pockets. Her ears were cold, and her nose was probably turning red, but she didn't care. Three days of sales. It was enough to get her home.

Home.

She turned slowly walking back to the bar, her boots crunching in the snow. Home.

**************************8

She slipped through the door, as quietly as possible. She scanned the room as she shed her jacket and hung it up next to the old heater. Miller and Bryan were back to playing pool. Murphy and Bellamy were slow dancing to an old Bing Crosby song. Clarke was sketching on a napkin, Anya was scowling as she played with the spoon in her bowl. Indra and Gustus were sitting next to each other, talking quietly. That was surprising, she didn't think they'd ever spoken before. Jasper was listening to that iPod again. The one the girl left behind. She shook her head. Monty and Harper were playing darts and laughing. She couldn't help but smile a little.

She slipped back behind the bar, gathering up the empty spoons and bowls. She looked around but couldn't find the child. "Where is she?"

"Who?"

"The kid, Anya. You know. The kid who was here?" She jerked her chin towards the end of the bar, the stool empty.

"Oh." Anya looked around, her brow furrowing. Where was the kid. She had been here. Just been here. "I don't know. She was just here. I think?" Anya's voice trailed off.

Clarke stood up and slid a few stools down to sit next to Anya. "That's weird. She was right here. She must have left when you left."

"What do you mean? I didn't leave," muttered Lexa as she hurried back into the kitchen, dumping the bowls into the trash. "Fuck," she muttered. She scowled. She hadn't wanted anyone to notice that she had gone outside. She brushed her hands off and went back out to the bar, determined to put it out of her mind. Obviously the kid had followed her out and then gone home. Good. She didn't need any more kids in her hair tonight.

She stiffened when Bellamy stumbled to the bar. She narrowed her eyes, knowing it was almost time to cut him off. She saw Murphy appear over his shoulder mouthing his silent apologies. She shook her head.

"How'a but…'bout…'nother?" Bellamy slurred his words a little before taking a deep breath and straightening. "Just a beer. Last one." He nodded sharply looking around the bar, frowning when his eyes landed on the empty stool. He didn't want to think about the kid. How she had reminded him so much of his little sister. His sister who was gone.

"How about some hot chocolate instead?" Lexa looked around. "I think I even have some candy canes. I could put one in it?" She flushed, feeling foolish as Bellamy stared at her stupidly before suddenly smiling and nodding. She didn't know what had come over her, why she had made the silly offer.

"Um..yeah…yeah," he looked over his shoulder at Murphy who nodded quietly. He stared for a moment, mesmerized by his boyfriend's soft eyes. Murphy wasn't the most genial guy, he could be sarcastic and cynical, but his eyes were always soft when they looked at Bellamy. He frowned when he felt the hand come up to rest between his shoulder blades and rub soothingly. There was a lingering pain in Murphy's eyes, and Bellamy knew he'd put it there.

He took a steadying breath, speaking as slowly and deliberately as possible so as not to slur, "Yeah. Hot chocolate and candy cane would be great. Make it two." He fumbled for his wallet, pulling out more bills, wondering how much hot chocolate and candy canes cost. Probably just a few bucks. He nodded to himself. He also needed to pay for the chowder and bread.

He held out a wad of bills, confused when Lexa didn't take them. He shook the bills lightly, waiting for her to take them.

Lexa stared at the money, thinking about her empty cash drawer. She coughed and shrugged. "It's on the house. It's all on the house." She raised her voice so everyone could hear, before turning back to the kitchen to put on the kettle and dig up the candy canes. What had come over her? First the hot chocolate and candy canes, and now everyone's bill was on the house? It reeked of sentimentality and even Christmas cheer, and she had never been the cheerful type. She just shook her head and started making hot chocolate.

Another hour passed, and they all sat at the bar or leaned on the bar talking quietly, stirring their hot chocolate with candy canes. A few of them had opted to add a little Ice (Peppermint Schnapps) to their hot chocolate. And she couldn't help but smile when Bellamy refused the Ice, and Murphy had beamed at him.

It was closing in on midnight, and no new customers had come in. And everyone was standing and shuffling around looking for coats, a few whispering about the girl. It wasn't long before it was just Anya and Clarke left. Clarke didn't look like she was ready to leave, instead staring hard at her phone.

Anya dragged herself off the stool, pulling her coat on. She hesitated a moment looking up at Lexa who had come down to the bar, cleaning up as she went. She reached inside her coat and pulled out the small wrapped present. She had scoured the markets and Ebay for this particular present. She knew what it would mean to Lexa. Lexa was the closest thing to a sister or even family she had. Actually she was family, the only family she had. She sighed and set it on the bar, tapping the package with her fingers. "So I found this. I just happened across it. I wasn't looking for it," she hastened to say, while Lexa just stared at her with that stoic mask firmly in place.

"But I thought you might like it," Anya finished before briskly pulling on her hat, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Just you know…open it whenever. After I leave." She reached over the bar, abruptly pulling Lexa into a hug. She squeezed her tightly for a moment, feeling more than a little embarrassed, but immediately relieved when slim arms wrapped around her and returned the hug.

"Merry Christmas, kiddo." She pulled back and hurried out the door, before her emotions got the best of her.

Lexa just stared at her in bewilderment. Anya hadn't hugged her since they were kids. So this…she worried for a moment, wondering if maybe Anya was sick. Maybe even dying. She couldn't think of any other reason why Anya would hug her so suddenly.

"Stop worrying. She's fine."

Lexa looked up startled to see that Clarke had moved a few seats down again, and was sitting across from her, leaning a little on the bar, clutching her phone.

"I'm not worried."

"Yes, you are. You bite your lower lip. On the right side. You bite it exactly there," she reached out and tapped the lower corner of Lexa's lip, letting her fingertip nestle against the silky skin for a moment. She withdrew her finger reluctantly, "you bite it just there when you are worried," she finished in a husky voice.

Lexa didn't say anything, too shocked by Clarke's actions. It had been so long since someone had touched her like that. Not since Costia. She frowned at the thought of Costia, remembering how much she'd loved the other girl, but it had been years since she'd been gone, and the pain had dulled to a small ache that she felt occasionally. She supposed that was the way of it. Time heals whether people were ready or not.

"We saw, you know," murmured Clarke as she looked down at her phone before looking back up to Lexa.

"We saw you take the money out of the drawer and walk up the street. You came back without it."

Lexa swallowed hard and shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. She didn't really want to talk about it.

"What you did…" Clarke's voice trailed off before she smiled slightly, "that was a little thing. A little wave with big actions." She shook her head, "I mean…it was important. It was a big thing." She winced ruefully, embarrassed that she hadn't managed to articulate what she meant.

"Yeah, well…" Lexa shuffled her feet, feeling the heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks. "The kid was right. If people can get home, they are already there. Home…home is important. Everyone should go home."

Clarke stared at her thoughtfully, surprised by the wistful tone in the brunette's voice. She didn't know her well, only knew bits and pieces she'd managed to scrounge up about her. But there was something about the way she moved, about the way her eyes shone, the gruff husk in her voice. And sometimes she caught the brunette's gaze lingering on her, and it gave her hope.

Lexa straightened up, "I have to finish washing these dishes. You want some more hot chocolate? I think there is a little left."

Clarke nodded absently, her eyes glued on her phone. She didn't notice when Lexa walked back into the kitchen with her arms full. She took a deep breath and hit the "Dial" button.

"Hey, Mom. No, I'm fine. Nothing is wrong. I'm sorry I called so late," she laughed apologetically. "Look, Mom…I just…the music…" she swallowed hard, the tears pricking her eyes, "It's all I have left of him," she whispered brokenly. And when she heard the sobs on the other end of the line, her own tears fell. "I know…I know watching his pain just about killed you…but music is how I know he's with me. How he's with us, Mom." She pleaded gently in the phone, hoping this time her mother would understand.

And she listened quietly as her mother told her about how much she'd loved Jake, how it had pained her so greatly to see him struggle to play music again, how much hope Clarke had brought him, and how desperately afraid she was that she would lose Clarke the way she'd lost Jake.

"You won't lose me, Mom. Look…I changed my mind. Ok? I'm coming home. There is a flight that leaves at 6:30am. I'll be on it, and I'll be home before 8:30am. Can you pick me up?" She smiled when she heard her mother's eager reply, and after a few moment's she hung up the phone, knowing she'd done the right thing. And now…there was one more thing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

They waited outside in the cold for the taxi. They could have waited inside, Lexa wouldn't have kicked them out, but the cold air would help sober them up a bit. Jasper stood there, a little off to the side watching as Monty and Harper giggled. He smiled to himself when Harper slipped her arm through Monty's, and the other boy beamed in delight.

He looked up into the night sky, closing his eyes as the snowflakes caressed his cheeks. "Ok. I'll go with you tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

He smiled at the hopeful tone of her voice. She was right. They were both right. It was time to care about someone other than himself, about his own pain over a girl who didn't love him. And feeding the homeless on Christmas Day? That seemed like a good place to start. If Lexa could do something for someone else. So could he.

They clambered into the taxi when it arrived, shuffling and grabbing at seatbelts as they buckled in. "Hey. Where's your iPod? Did you leave it? I'll get it." Monty opened the door to step back out into the cold, but froze when Jasper grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the cab.

"No. I don't need it anymore." Jasper looked out the window before continuing, his cheeks flushing in shame, "Look about the smoking…I know…well, I'm going to stop." He laughed a little, "Ok maybe I'm not going to stop completely, but I'm going to limit myself to once a week, not every day." He nodded firmly. Yes, this was the right step. It was a good step.

Monty grinned at his friend, and punched him lightly in the shoulder. Tonight was a good night. He smiled and tentatively wrapped his arm around Harper's shoulders, and when she leaned into him, her nose brushing his cheek, he chuckled. Yes, tonight was a very good night indeed.

Bellamy and Murphy walked slowly home, stepping carefully through the snow. They didn't speak at first, but when Murphy huddled a little closer, Bellamy wrapped his arm around Murphy pulling him tight into his side. They stopped outside a little bodega, standing near the heating grate, watching the lights on the tree twinkle in the window.

"Ok."

"Okay…what?"

"Ok. I'm done." Bellamy turned from the window to face Murphy. He reached out and cupped the shorter boy's cheeks, letting his thumbs brush softly along his cheekbones. "I'm done drinking. It's time. It's past time," he admitted somberly. He closed his eyes, feeling the burn of salt.

"I never should have started, and I should have stopped when you asked." He leaned down, letting his forehead rest against Murphy's. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Murphy felt his chest tighten. He'd been waiting a long time for Bellamy to say he was finally ready. It had been three years, and yet he knew she still haunted him, that Bellamy still blamed himself for her death. Hell, it still haunted him. And maybe they should have done something sooner. It wasn't all on Bellamy, they should have taken his sister from her step-father before the horror couldn't be undone. And that child tonight…that young girl…she looked to be the same age as when…he couldn't bring himself to even finish the thought. But he'd noticed the similarities, the identical arch of the eyebrow, the chocolate brown eyes.

He wrapped his arms around Bellamy's shoulders, tilting his head so he could press his chapped lips against Bellamy's silky red lips. He couldn't figure out how Bellamy managed to never have chapped lips, and yet Murphy went through tubes of chapstick like it was the Second Coming. But Bellamy had never complained. He brushed one hand through Bellamy's thick hair, letting his cold fingers tangle in his wild curls.

"It isn't on you. It was on him. He did it. Not you. She wouldn't want you to suffer like this." He kissed Bellamy again, hoping Bellamy would believe him. He pressed into the bigger man's body, searching for both is strength and warmth. "We'll get through this together," he promised.

Bellamy nodded, letting the tears fall. "The rehab place you mentioned…the one you read about it…I'll call them on Monday." He straightened and wrapped both arms around his boyfriend's thin body, tucking him under his chin. He didn't deserve Murphy. He knew it, but he was so grateful that Murphy still loved him enough to put up with his shit.

"I need to throw out the alcohol when I get home. All of it."

Murphy nodded, reluctant to pull away from the warm cocoon of Bellamy's heated body. "I'll do it."

"No," sighed Bellamy. "I need to do it. I need to throw it all out."

Murphy nodded in understanding, stepping out of Bellamy's arms and taking his hand in his and pulling him toward home. "We'll do it together."

"Together," whispered Bellamy as he fell into step with Murphy, his heart lighter than it had been in years.

"We need milk," murmured Bryan quietly as they trudged down the sidewalk, arms looped together, hands shoved in their pockets. "I forgot to get some earlier." He nudged Miller's cold cheek with his nose, and when Miller smiled, he kissed his cheek quickly.

"Ok, the shop on the corner is usually open until midnight." Miller turned at the corner, pulling Bryan along with him. Soon they were at the knocking their boots on the steps trying to rid them of the slush and grime of the streets. They pushed through the door, the little bell at the top tinkling. The man behind the counter nodded and went back to his magazine, unconcerned with his few customers.

Bryan walked down the small aisle, while Miller quietly perused the brightly wrapped Christmas candy selection. Once Bryan reached the cooler, he grabbed the half gallon of milk and debated whether or not to also grab some eggnog. And did he want the light eggnog or the full fat eggnog? Or maybe the chocolate eggnog? Who'd ever heard of chocolate eggnog though?

"Tough decision, huh? The eggnog?"

Bryan looked up startled at the older man who was reaching for a carton of eggs in the next cooler. He was probably ten years older than Bryan, with a wild head of hair, but what really drew his attention was the child sleeping in, what Bryan assumed was his father's arms. He was probably only about three with dark hair peeking out from under his pom-pom winter hat. He was snoring lightly, his round cheeks slightly red from the cold, bundled up in a snowsuit and jacket and boots.

The man caught his stare and smiled. "Took him to Rockefella Center to see the trees and ice skate." He chuckled. "We fell more than we skated, but that's ok." He turned to Bryan, "have you seen the tree?"

Bryan shook his head, unable to tear his gaze away from the little boy. "Is it hard?" He jerked his chin towards the boy.

"Hard?" The man stared at him thoughtfully, debating if this was the type of conversation he wanted to have with a stranger. But the young man looked so worried and yet hopeful, so he nodded slowly. "It's the hardest thing I've ever done. I was terrified when Melanie got pregnant. Artigas here wasn't planned. And I was terrified I'd be a horrible father. That I wouldn't be enough, that I'd screw up." The man shifted the snoring boy in his arms.

"But, man, I'm telling you. It's the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's also the best thing I've ever done. He makes me a better man." He laughed quietly, a blush straining his cheeks at revealing so much to this young stranger. "I didn't know I could love so deeply, could be so strong, and yet so afraid." He chuckled again. "When he comes running towards me with his arms outstretched yelling 'Papa'…" the man huffed, biting his lip for a moment before continuing on with a lightly huskier voice. "Nothing compares to the fierce love you feel in that moment."

"And yeah, it's terrifying that I could be owned so thoroughly by this little guy, but every moment of terror is far surpassed by every moment of loving him." He nodded his head before shrugging a little.

"Well, I'd better get back to Melanie." He started to turn away.

"Thank you," Bryan managed to choke out. "Wait…sorry, can I ask you something else?"

The man shifted the eggs under his arm and nodded.

"Do you still worry that you'll be a terrible dad?"

The man frowned thoughtfully before slowly nodding. "Yeah, sometimes I worry I won't do right by him, and sometimes I make mistakes. You have to learn to be a parent, and I always try better and harder next time."

He stared at Bryan for a moment, "You want to be a dad? That your fella up near the counter?"

Bryan nodded slowly, "yes, that's my husband. He wants to be a father, and I think I do…I'm just afraid, I guess."

"Well, that fear…it never really goes away. But what you'll have with your kid, that bond, that love…it's worth it." He nodded and smiled again. "Merry Christmas…" He waited.

"Bryan."

"Merry Christmas, Bryan. I'm Nyko. Well, I'd better get home to Melania, and get this boy into bed."

Bryan could only nod and watch as the man paid for his eggs, nodded to Miller, and walked out the door. He slowly grabbed the eggnog and walked to the front of the store, paying for the milk and eggnog, and chocolate Santa that Miller had picked out.

Once outside, they started walking towards their house. "Saw you talking to that guy. Everything ok?"

Bryan halted on the sidewalk. He tilted his head back and stared up at the stars. He'd always loved the stars. His mum had bought him a telescope when he was six. She'd spent months saving up to buy it for him, and he'd spent years watching the stars, dreaming of life beyond his own imagination. He smiled.

"Yes, it is." He turned towards Miller, a smile breaking across his face. "I'm ready. I'm terrified. So afraid I'll screw up being a dad, but I will try to be the best. I'll love our kid. That's what's going to matter."

He barely finished his words before Miller crushed him into a bear hug. "Are you sure? You can't do this for me. You have to want it also. If you don't, then we won't. I love you, Bryan. You are enough. Please don't doubt that."

Bryan laughed and pressed his mouth against Miller's, flicking his tongue against Miller's cold lips. "I'm ready. We'll have a son or daughter, and we'll teach them how to play pool, we'll teach them all the constellations, and how to tie their shoes, and how to ride a bike, and how to bake cookies. And most of all, we will love them. Unconditionally. Always." He nodded resolutely, the burden and fear of failure withering in his chest. He knew it would always be there, that fear that he would fail, but he wouldn't let it rule their life together.

Miller wrapped his arms around Bryan again, planting wet, sloppy kisses all over his face. "I. Love. You. So. Damn. Much."

"I love you too, now let's go home. It's Christmas Eve, and we have a future to plan. And so they went into their apartment and locked the door behind them, talking excitedly about the family they would one day have.

He stepped out of the taxi, holding the door open for her. He paid for the taxi, he would catch the subway home. He gestured up to her stoop, indicating he would walk her up, and she nodded almost regally at him, accepting the gesture for what it was. He knew she was capable of doing it herself, but he wasn't quite ready to say goodnight, not after finally getting the opportunity to speak with her in the bar. She had intrigued him with her dark eyes that almost glowed, the gentle quirk of her mouth, and the fierce glare she threw at the drunks in the bar.

So he walked her up to her apartment door. And once on the snowy stoop, he shifted awkwardly under her hawkish gaze. "Well, I hope you have a good night." He pulled lightly at his beard, "Thank you for the conversation tonight. It was nice," he finished lamely silently cursing himself.

He wasn't any good at this. He never had been particularly good at witty repartee, but Lillia had never cared. And though they'd only had a few short years together, they had been the best of his years. But Lillia had passed long ago, but he still carried her in his heart, afraid to let her go. And maybe he shouldn't have bothered to do this. He was probably better off alone. Did he even know how not to be alone anymore?

"Would you like to come up for a nightcap? Or some eggnog?" She waited and once he'd mutely nodded to her, she opened the door and climbed the stairs. Her apartment wasn't much. The furniture was old, the rugs worn but clean. It was small but cozy. She opened the door for him, noting how despite his huge size, he seemed to fit. She smiled and walked into the little kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator door.

"So, I have beer and eggnog?"

"Actually do you have any tea?"

She straightened and looked up at him thoughtfully, before nodding and pointing to the cupboard nearest his head. She put the kettle on to boil and grabbed two mugs. She'd bought them at a flea market up in Rangeley, Maine on one of her last camping trips. She wasn't sure why, but they had appealed to her with their thick bottoms and lopsided rims, clearly made by someone just learning pottery.

He smiled at the selection of tea. There were at least six kinds, and he picked the Cloud Catcher, liking the name. He held it up to her, and she nodded approvingly. They worked quietly together, quickly finding a rhythm. And once their tea had steeped, they took it to her small living room.

She gestured for him to sit on the couch, which he did, folding his large frame into the small space. She glanced at the arm chair opposite the couch, and decided instead to squeeze herself in next to him on the couch. There wasn't much room, but she enjoyed the soft smile that played along his lips.

He glanced around, noting that most of the walls were taken up by bookshelves, and he nodded approvingly at the wide selection of books. "So many. Why?"

She smiled into her mug of tea. She knew he wasn't disapproving, knew he actually understood why someone would have so many books, but he wanted to hear what she had to say.

"Because they never fail to teach me, to mold me." She shrugged a little, "sometimes they break me, wound me. But I always learn." She took a sip of tea, her shoulder pressed tightly to his arm. She could feel the muscles underneath his skin, and she was sure he could feel her own. They were both strong of body, and she assumed also of mind.

He nodded, "We should never stop learning, never stop growing. If you stop growing…" his voice trailed off, and he thought of Lillia, of how many years had passed, and how for so long he'd shut himself off from the world. He'd ignored his friends, until one day they were gone. He'd thrown himself into his career, using it as an excuse to not get close to anyone, but if he was willing to be truthful, he was tired of being alone. He'd stopped growing. He'd given so much of himself in service to his country, and now he just wanted to take long strolls in the park, go camping and canoeing up in the mountain lakes, read his books, and stare up at the stars. But he didn't want to do it alone, and he thought that maybe…just maybe she didn't want to be alone any more either. He was ready to grow again.

"I know," she finished quietly for him. She knew. She'd recognized the pain in his eyes, the burden that still clung to his shoulders. The weight of it was far too familiar. She grasped his big hand in her own and squeezed. She taught anthropology at the local university. She was tenured now, but she remembered years ago falling in love for the first time, and what she thought would be the last time, in the library over books and hot chocolate with a fellow grad assistant with a boyish grin. But it had been a love lost, and the pain had shaken her to her core, had changed her irrevocably. And tonight, she could feel that same change slipping into the room, and she knew she was ready.

They say there drinking tea, talking long into the night. And when the sun's first rays filtered through the window on Christmas morning, they were fast asleep wrapped in each other's arms with a blanket tossed around them. Two lonely souls finding rest with each other.

She walked quietly down the street, her footsteps muted by the fresh snow. She'd had her driver drop her off a couple blocks from her penthouse. She needed to walk. To think. She'd seen what Lexa had done. She'd slipped out the door after her, had watched her put the girl in a cab, given her all of the money from her cash drawer. It had left her…unsettled.

Anya had always lived her life by her own rules, and damn those who got in her way. But tonight…for the first time in a long time, it was no longer enough. She looked down at her hideously expensive boots, and they didn't please her so much anymore. She trudged to the corner of her building and stopped, looking up at her windows. She could see the lone light she'd left on in the kitchen. There wasn't a Christmas tree or a single decoration in her apartment, just expensive furniture that was uncomfortable to sit upon. And she knew it was going to be cold and empty when she walked through that door. It had never bothered her before. But tonight…

She growled in irritation, since when had she grown to be so sentimental, so maudlin? She shook her head and continued around the corner, and she stopped when she saw them. They were huddled around the grate like usual. She bit her lip, before pushing her shoulders back and striding forward, and past them. She ignored their quiet "Evening, ma'am." She dug her keys out of her apartment, waiting for the night doorman to get off his butt behind the desk and let her in.

She closed her eyes, her stomach roiling, and she cursed loudly and waved the doorman off before turning on her heel and stomping back the way she'd come. She stood in front of them, noting their surprised expressions. They looked like they were in their late forties. Their clothing was old and patched, but mostly clean. They didn't have gloves, and their boots…one of them had used duck tape to hold them together.

"You hungry?" She impatiently crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for them to get over their surprise.

"Yes, ma'am. It's been a while since we ate."

She nodded sharply to them. "Well come on then. There is a diner just down the street," she spun on her heel not waiting for them to follow her. But it was only a moment before she heard the muffled sound of their boots in the snow. They kept a respectful distance behind her, and despite not knowing who they were, she knew she had nothing to fear.

She walked briskly to the diner, waiting for them once she reached the door. Once they stepped up next to her, she went to grab the door handle, but one of the men beat her to it. He nodded politely and held it open for her and his friend.

She nodded in surprise, but stepped gracefully through the door. The tired waitress seated them in a booth, and filled their mugs with hot coffee. The men took of their hats and gratefully wrapped cold fingers around their mugs.

"I'm Anya." She took a deep breath and offered her hand to the man directly across from her.

He stared at her in surprise and then smiled, "I'm Thelonius, Ma'am, but most people just call me Jaha." He carefully shook her hand, before nudging his friend who offered his own hand to Anya.

"I'm Kane, Ma'am. Pleased to meet you."

She sniffed after shaking his hand, "Please do not call me Ma'am. Just call me Anya." She picked up her menu, perusing the selections. She wasn't hungry, but she had a feeling they wouldn't order any food if she wasn't also going to eat.

The waitress came back and after they'd ordered, she had to browbeat them a little to get them to order enough food, she sat back and stared at them thoughtfully. "You both have accents…not New York. Where are you from?"

And the question she left unasked, was the one she really wanted answered. They looked at each other for a moment before opting for the truth. They were tired, and the struggle had been long and hard, and she offered them a silent commiseration.

"Well, I'm from Georgia originally. I was one of three deputies of a small town down in peach country. He smiled a little. My wife and I…" Kane stopped for a moment, taking a shaky breath, "Callie…we had a small farm also. Grew peach trees, had some goats." He played with the edges of the menu, his gaze downcast remembering long days gone by.

"She died," he murmured quietly, pain bleeding through his voice. "Drunk driver. Local white boy from a good family." He snorted angrily. "No, they weren't good. They just had money and gave it to the church and the volunteer fire department. They let him off. Gave him a slap on the wrist." His hands tightened around his mug, "And I couldn't let him get away with it. She was everything." He swallowed hard, his eyes wet with salt, "so I waited for him outside the bar he liked to frequent. He was in the hospital for two weeks, and I ended up in jail for three years."

He laughed harshly, "I served longer than he did. And once I got out…I just started drifting, found some odd jobs, but people don't like to hire anyone who's been in jail. I found my way up here. Figured a city this big, people wouldn't be so picky, I could find work." He shook his head, "I didn't count on the winter, didn't count on people just walking by and never actually seeing me." His fell silent, staring quietly into his coffee.

Anya nodded, not bothering to say anything. What was there really to say? She was one of those people. She turned to the other man, "And you, Jaha? What brought you here?

Jaha shrugged, "The same. I lost my wife when my boy was only a few months old."

"Where is he now?" And the moment she asked it, she regretted it. The pain that flared in his dark eyes when he looked up at her, made her breath catch in her throat, and remorse flooded her. She watched silently as Kane clasped his friend's shoulder, squeezing it.

"He died. Cancer. He was sixteen. He died slow and painful." Jaha lifted the mug of coffee, gulping it down, not caring how it scalded his mouth. It was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. "I started drinking. Lost my job, but I didn't care. And soon the alcohol wasn't enough, and I'd moved on to other shit." He shook his head. "God, I loved that boy, and I wanted to just die with him."

He dropped his head, tears filling his eyes. "I met Kane 'bout a year ago. He helped me get clean. Been clean for six months now." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his chips and showed them to her.

Anya carefully picked them up, the writing obscured by the word "Wells." It was written on both sides of each chip. "Wells?"

"Wellington. His name was Wellington. It was his mother's maiden name, and I called him Wells." He held his hand out for the chips, carefully tucking them back into his pocket. "It's been a long six months, but I'm getting there." He smiled, "but like Kane says, no one wants to hire a man who is trying to lick his addictions."

Anya nodded quietly, saying nothing more as their food was placed before them. They ate and drank more coffee, and talked of days long gone by, and better days to come. And when they finally left the diner, with the sun peaking over the tops of the buildings; it was enough.

Lexa puttered around the bar, carefully washing all the glasses. She swept the floor and turned the chairs upside down on the table with Clarke's help. They didn't really speak, just carefully moved around each other, stealing glances and trading smiles every now and then.

It was when she was stacking the chairs on the last table that she noticed the pink and white iPod laying in the middle of the table. Under was a piece of torn paper. She picked up the iPod, realizing immediately that Jasper had left it. She remembered it from when the Maya girl used to come in with Jasper. The girl had been quiet, polite, and had always had the earphones jammed in her ears.

"What is it?"

Lexa glanced up surprised, she hadn't heard Clarke walk up behind her, and she felt her breath catch in her throat when the other girl leaned in closely over her shoulder. She could feel the other girl's heat radiating from her, and she was sure it was going to scorch her. She swallowed hard before holding it up absently.

"Jasper left it." She frowned thoughtfully, "which is unusual. He's kind of obsessed with it."

Clarke leaned in further, letting her breath ghost along Lexa's neck. She smiled when the brunette shivered slightly. "There is a piece of paper on the table." She leaned around Lexa, deliberately letting her breasts slide along Lexa's back as she moved around her to grab the piece of paper.

 _I don't need this anymore. Keep it or toss it. Merry Christmas, Lexa -Jasper._ Clarke read it aloud, smiling softly as she handed the note to Lexa who folded it carefully and slipped it into her pocket.

"So…this is a good thing?" Clarke asked curiously as she stepped a little closer to Lexa, tapping the iPod that Lexa still held in her hands. She let her fingers linger on the cool screen of the iPod before sliding her fingers up and letting them graze along Lexa's fingers.

Lexa nodded, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. It had been a long time, since she'd really bothered to notice anyone, despite the occasional girl who came to the bar and tried to flirt with her. But Clarke…Clarke was different. She more than just beautiful with her disheveled blonde curls falling around her face, her blue eyes twinkling, her pink lips quirking into an almost teasing smile.

There was something almost soothing about Clarke standing so close to her despite the way her stomach fluttered, and her heart pounded in her ears. It was a strange paradox, and she pushed the thought away that perhaps she felt safe with Clarke despite knowing so little about her. But perhaps that could change.

She slipped the iPod into her pocket, not sure what she would do with it, but that could wait for now. She flipped the last chair onto the table, and then leaned one arm on the leg rung. She slouched a little, trying to find a comfortable position. Her back and feet were starting to ache. It had been a long day, longer than she had planned. "So…" she hesitated, unsure if she should pry, surprised that she even wanted to pry, but she felt emboldened by Clarke's smile and nod of her head.

"Plans for Christmas?"

Clarke stepped a little closer, letting her fingers slide along the leg runs of the chair. She watched as her fingers traced the grooves in the wood before nodding slowly. "Yes, I hadn't planned on it, but I decided at the last minute to go home." Clarke rubbed a small stain on the rung, "what you said…" she let her voice trail off, and she looked up at Lexa.

"What you said about going home…well, it made me realize that if you can go home, you should go home. Things have been…difficult…" she laughed and shook her head, "god, that's an understatement. But things have been difficult between my mum and I." She bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly uncharacteristically shy, "but I think we have hope now. I think it can get better. I want it to."

Clarke gestured towards Lexa's pocket where she'd put the iPod. "That right there…that was you. What you did tonight…this bar full of sort-of strangers." She reached up and tapped a finger against Lexa's chest right over her heart, "we all saw what you did, we knew. You changed people tonight. You gave them the courage to find home. And that kid…" Clarke shook her head in silent wonderment, "Well that I don't know. But I know what you did."

She smiled at Lexa, and Lexa would have sworn that for one moment the entire room lit with a soft glow, and something that felt suspiciously like burgeoning hope flared in her chest. She nodded mutely, not sure what to say. Hope was a foreign concept to her, as was home. It had always felt like make-believe. She'd never really understood what it meant, not when she'd been shuffled from foster home to foster home. No one wanted a kid who didn't smile and rarely spoke. They'd called her "The Little Commander," at the agency, because she was always so stoic, so seemingly calm, always in control. So tightly wound that she was afraid someday she would unravel from the slightest nudge.

"That's good," mumbled Lexa as she turned back to the bar. She gestured for Clarke to hop on a stool, and she poured her a fresh hot chocolate. "I have to step out back for a moment."

Clarke smiled and nodded, sipping the hot chocolate that she hadn't really wanted, but she wasn't ready to let the night end. She wasn't ready to say goodnight to Lexa. Tonight…Christmas Eve…well really, Christmas Day now, was a day filled with possibility, as if magic hung in the air waiting to be plucked by anyone brave enough.

Lexa stepped out the back, walking to the small padlocked shed attached to the bar. Her hands shook with cold, and she fumbled as she fit the key inside. Once open, she quickly scooped a couple shovels worth of coal into her metal bucket, before swinging the door shut again and locking it up. She stamped her feet on the back step before slipping back into the bar. She walked through the kitchen to the bar to get to the back room.

When Clarke looked at her curiously, she shrugged, "It's coal. For the back room. I sleep there some nights, and the small stove keeps it pretty warm. It probably isn't overly healthy," she chuckled ruefully, "coal and all." But she shrugged almost sheepishly when Clarke just laughed and shook her head.

Clarke jumped of her stool, grasping her half full mug. She walked around the bar and poured it down the sink. "Show me."

Lexa stared at her in surprise. She hesitated for a moment, shifting the bucket from hand to hand, ignoring how the thin metal handle bit into her palms from the weight of the coal. She couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from the brilliant blue that shown in the meager overhead lighting. She swallowed hard, before nodding dumbly. She gestured vaguely towards the back room, watching in mesmerized wonder as Clarke confidently strode down the length of the bar and ducked into the back room.

Clarke pushed open the door and stepped into the small room. It held a small coal stove near the back wall. The bed was against the opposite wall roughly five feet away. Next to it was a small stand with a drawer. A small bureau was pressed up to the end of the bed. Above the headboard were two shelves crammed with books, most worn and old, with creased and frayed spines.

She stepped in further smiling, it wasn't much, but it was clean and warm, and it would do. She sat on the bed, bouncing tentatively, and waiting for Lexa to shuffle inside. She watched as Lexa quietly went about cleaning the stove and loading it with more coal.

Once she'd finished loading the few pieces of coal, Lexa stood up nervously brushing her palms against her softly worn jeans. She picked at the frayed edges of one of the pockets, not looking at Clarke but all too aware that the blonde was watching her every move. She pushed her foot against the coal bucket, moving it back a few inches, the grating sound loud against the small slab of slate that the stove sat upon.

"I never had a home. Just foster homes. It's where I met Anya. She was the closest thing I ever had to a sister, to family of any kind. This place…" she shrugged her shoulders as she shoved her hands in her pockets.

Clarke nodded, despite the fact that Lexa couldn't see her. She wanted nothing more than to comfort the brunette in that moment. Lexa's voice sounded worn and tattered at the edges, like she'd forgotten how to laugh. Clarke stood up and moved the few steps to reach Lexa's side. She carefully slipped her around Lexa's elbow, gently pulling her hand out of her pocket. She grasped Lexa's hand, intertwining their fingers together. She smiled at how perfectly they fit, puzzle pieces nestled against each other, complete for the first time.

"Come on," she murmured as she gently tugged Lexa to the bed, pulled her down to sit next to her. She reached down to the bed and picked up the small package that Anya had left. She'd grabbed it off the bar when she'd walked by and now she placed it in Lexa's hands. "Maybe it's time to open this. It's Christmas after all."

Lexa nodded slowly, fiddling with the slim package wrapped in smooth red paper with white snowflakes on it. She was sure it was a book, but it was only about eight inches in length, and couldn't be many pages. She fiddled some more with the wrapping paper, before taking a deep breath and carefully pulling at the tape on the corners.

Once she'd peeled the wrapping off, she could barely speak as she cradled the slim book gently in her hands. She could feel Clarke leaning into her side, peering curiously at the book. She felt the tears well up in her eyes, and she laughed harshly, the smile twisting her lips as if she couldn't decide what to feel.

"What is it?"

Lexa ran her fingertips down the faded blue cover, tracing the white lettering: _The White Cat._ "It was a children's book. It's old, out of print. I found it in a pile of garbage someone had left out on the street for the dump man. Anya would read it to me every night. It was about this toy cat with white fur, and how proud he was of how white he was. He accidentally fell out of the window, and a boy with grubby fingers took him home to his little sister. And the cat hated it."

Clarke rested her chin on Lexa's shoulder, saying nothing, just drinking in the sound of Lexa's husky voice. She didn't need to be told how much the book had once meant to Lexa. It was obvious in the tremble of her words, the skimming of her fingers up and down the worn cover. So she waited quietly, knowing that Lexa wasn't quite done.

"It was about learning humility, but also about finding home." Lexa chuckled wetly, not bothering to tell Clarke how the foster father had found the book, assumed she'd stolen it, and to punish her; he'd burned it. She'd been inconsolable at first, until she dried her tears, and decided not to get attached to anything or anyone else again.

"Did he find his way home again?"

Lexa nodded, "but home wasn't really what he thought it was," she said thoughtfully before getting up and carefully placing the book on the shelf. She let her fingers linger on the spine, smiling softly. Leave it to Anya to go and do something incredibly sentimental, all the while denying the importance of what she'd done.

Once she'd sat back down on the bed next to Clarke, the blonde slid closer again. "And you? Have you found your way home?"

Lexa frowned, not sure how to really answer, so she shrugged staring straight ahead, before tentatively reaching for Clarke's hand. This time, it was she who intertwined their fingers, and it still felt right, like to pieces finally finding how they fit together.

"This place….I guess. It's is all I have," muttered Lexa as she stared down at their clasped hands.

"Is it enough?"

Lexa looked up, meeting Clarke's eyes. She swallowed hard, her heart thumping a little too quickly. "I thought it was, I thought it was all I could have."

Clarke leaned a little closer, her nose just barely brushing Lexa's cheek. "And now? What do you want now?"

Lexa reached her other hand up to cup Clarke's cheek, letting her fingertips press lightly along her nose and down her lips. "More. I want more. You," she whispered just before she pressed her lips faintly against Clarke's.

It was tentative as most first kisses are, a little unsure, hesitant but with restrained eagerness, and when Clarke wrapped her palm around the back of Lexa's neck, and opened her mouth, inviting her inside, Lexa eagerly pressed forward.

Lexa shuddered when she felt Clarke's tongue slide against her, when she felt the heat of the other girl's mouth spill into her own, and she tasted of fruit and peppermint and chocolate, and Lexa pressed forward harder, her hands tangling in Clarke's hair. And when Clarke wrapped her arms around Lexa's waist, tugging her backward as she lay down, Lexa followed willingly, laying on top of the other girl, fitting her hips in the cradle of her thighs.

And the minutes and hours slipped by, as they tugged at clothing, kissing and nipping, their hands finding soft and warm places to rest on each other's bodies. But eventually the coal burned low, and their breath evened out as they lay wrapped up in each other under the blankets, and they slumbered together in the warmth of new-found home.

The hours slowly drifted by, as slow as the snowflakes that continued to dance and twirl through the air, blanketing the city in gentle sleep. She stood under a lone street lamp, the light casting a golden halo around her body. Her navy blue bomber jacket was unbuttoned, revealing the dark tank top underneath. But she didn't shiver in the cold, instead she tilted her face to the sky, her eyes closed, and the snowflakes kissed her eyes and cheeks and lips. And she laughed lightly, but the joyous sound filled the air around her, spilling down the streets and slipping through the cracks of each and every building, lighting the way.

And then she turned and looked straight ahead, stretching her arms outward, "If you want to arrange it, you can change it."

You can go home.

 **A/N: Thoughts?** **Also...the book referenced in this story, is an old children's book. And I believe it was called The White Cat or The China Cat. My father bought it for me at a yard sale when I was a wee munchkin, and I loved it. I have since lost it, but if it sounds familiar to anyone, please let me know; because I'm trying to track down a copy of it. Thank you!**


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